Archive for April, 2017

He hadn’t shaved in days. The smell on his body was unmistakable. He hadn’t taken any showers lately. His tan jacket was too big for him; he had lost a lot of weight. His trousers needed a better belt. He talked about the old days and how things had been good for him back then. It wasn’t so long ago—maybe 3 or 4 years. He couldn’t remember; he thought it had been in 2012 0r 2013. His voice broke a few times, recalling people no longer around. No one dear lived near him. They were somewhere else; they were in a place he couldn’t even dream of reaching.

Who will tell you not to seek out danger? Who will say to you: Don’t do this because no one will bail you out? When you climb down the stairs to go out into the street who is going to talk to you in a firm voice, a voice that will stop you from using the half open door? Are you listening to other commanding now or are you, as usual, with people who expect others to rescue you? Are you with those who will hit you because you are on the couch taking a rest? How can I protect you now? I don’t know where you are anymore.

You still don’t understand. You were not there. You don’t know. I saw him when he was sick. I saw him at his worst; I thought it was about over for him. He lay in bed with his eyes closed. I would touch him to feel his pulse. Fine, I would say. It’s fine. I’m so happy. You’re still with us. The minute he opened his eyes he looked around the room. The sadness he must have felt was heartbreaking. I didn’t dare ask him, but I knew. He wanted his family. He wanted to see them. He didn’t care about anything or anybody else. I could imagine his wondering if they’d come back from that far away country. Nobody except them was allowed to hug or kiss him. I wanted to comfort him many times, but something held me back. I cared deeply for his welfare, yet I had to pretend to him that we were almost strangers.

The Man
The man is in pain. It’s no joke. The pain is all too real. He sits. His seat is a blanket in the middle of a street. Sometimes the seat is in somebody’s house. Things are iffy for him now. Things, events, are not to be trusted. He feels that they have done him enough damage. He doesn’t feel like getting more on top of every other type of damage. What more can he lose? Hasn’t he lost enough already? He sits and he sleeps. Food doesn’t exist for him anymore. Nothing exists except whatever eases, or pretends to ease, the pain.

Anything. I would do anything for you. Whatever you wanted, whatever you needed. No risk was too much of a challenge. Nothing mattered except making sure that you were happy. I could not have loved you more if I had tried. The first time I saw you, I knew. It was that simple. My heart was full and I couldn’t wait to race over to you. I had to see you no matter what.

Something nice–I want something nice. Or something sharp–either one is fine. I need something, whatever, to kill the pain. I want to wake up and feel nothing. I want wake up and not remember where I am or what I have become. I don’t like the me of right now. I hate being. I hate living in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of nothing. I want my life back, the life I trust. I grew up with that life. The life now means nothing to me. It is absolutely worthless.

It was a corpse. The cat was dead. Through the wire fence she saw the corpse of an animal. The two sisters used to sleep together under the trailer in the lumberyard. The blizzard had killed one of them. They were all they had. Now the remaining cat had to fend for herself.